Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Touch With Ones Eyes, Feel with your Mind

The Door to Perception
Is a Fact
But let's relax that
and see the butterfly in a cloud
or the squirrel in a tree.

I crawl up on my porch
and nibble upon the choir music
It's in Russian, or is it
it seems hauntingly Human
with thought behind mask
Their eyes show who they are
and what they recognize in you
and what they say lingers and reorganizes
as each long drawn out syllable changes
into new door of perception.

I grasp, but I cannot reach the radio
I can see it, I can feel it but I can
can but touch, just barely brushing now.
I lift it up, but it has not moved.

Where then am I now
How is it I can fly in my dreams
How can I cry at betrayel while sleeping.
The mind grasps, it touches, it feels, weeps
regardless of my keep... locked away as it were
as no rare metaphor but that of imagination.

And so as that squirrel nibbles
and the butterfly sweeps across the sky
slowly pushing out into 3rd Street Brewery Front
the Russian choir on the Radio
speaks in broken English
about how glad they are to be on the radio
as Jack Pine interviews them with weepy mustache
and green eyebrows, having just got back
from the Fall Carnival and Wine Press Festivals
Each of which he flung in with the locals
to raise a fun time.

But the Russians did not grasp the English
the Jack did not get straight answers
And the radio remained playing wide open
As before the squirrel started nibbling
as before the butterfly soared
as before when you were young
and convinced the the shadow of the coat
was an escaped convict there to rob,
but it wasn't was it, and so you forgot.

Beyond, that, what is remembered is in your heart
with all the love and laughter of lives before and after
Open your heart I would say, and dream a little
for imaginations play is perhaps the only way
to pass through the door of perception
Fact is, Facts are half myth,
and the other half, but a fact.
In light of that, where then resides
your imagination if it is real enough
to touch the sky or travel space
or grasp the high mast of a sailing ship.

Your imagination remains where it has always been
right behind you, a little out of sight
but reflected in each piece of glass
meeting your gaze in ways you can see past
and through to the years at last-
    in youth and old age, we each choose to be aware of
as much as we like to be, of the world around
and yesterday, and three days past the camera lens
                         of actuality.

Turn slightly your attention to these prized words
wait a sec, then reach out and touch with your eyes
and feel with your mind the laced message
we have but imagination to undress, caress, and love
indoors of perception.

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